


The Kings and the Seduction

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [41]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, Partner Betrayal, Prostitution, Romance, Rough Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2015-11-28
Packaged: 2018-05-03 19:39:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5304281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story picks up on a very small thread from a previous one which you may not even have noticed.  Well, you know from other Thorinduil episodes that the chickens always come home to roost and no naughty deed, even if unintentional, goes unpunished.  So, here you go!  Things become very angsty when Thorin accuses Thranduil of sexual shenanigans that he doesn’t even remember!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Seduction

 

.o00o.

 

The Kings and the Seduction

 

Pt I

 

Forever Thorin?

 

The sun was rising over the palace of Mirkwood and Thorin stretched and yawned.  His body elongated, his waist narrowed and the muscles bulged on his arms and thighs.  Then he opened his blue eyes and smiled.  “Good morning,” he growled and his voice rumbled deep in his throat.

 

Thranduil was leaning on one arm, looking down at him, thinking that the dwarf was impossibly beautiful.  He didn’t understand it because it was not the sort of beauty that he had ever admired: the brutal, muscular chest, the sheer heaviness of his limbs – everything was so wide and large and covered in hair.  And then there was that neat clipped beard contrasting with the untidy, flowing locks that looked as though they had never seen a brush.  The sheer strength was apparent in every move and ripple under the skin, in the large hands and the powerful features of his face.  And, between his splayed thighs, his balls hung large and heavy whilst his prick, currently lolling against the inside of one leg, was already beginning to stir and twitch in a promising way.

 

The elf touched his lover’s body curiously - the tattooed shoulders, the pierced nipple – and then the slender fingers ran down the flat stomach to finish beneath his balls, lifting them, feeling their weight.  Thorin’s cock sprang into life and Thranduil lay his own engorged member alongside, gently caressing them together.  “Why do I find you so attractive?” he murmured huskily.

 

Thorin answered lightly, always uncomfortable with such admiration because he didn’t admire himself.  “I don’t know.  Perhaps it’s my sparkling personality.”  And he ran his thick fingers through the elf’s silken hair, wondering for the nth time in what way his own great shaggy mane could be superior to the liquid gold that all elves seemed to grow upon their heads.

 

“Ah, your personality.  That must be it,” the elf grinned and he suddenly thrust a long, searching finger up Thorin’s backside.  The dwarf jumped then grunted with pleasure, looking down at their two hardened cocks, lying side by side upon his belly.  Thranduil’s was topped off by a large piercing and pearling ran up its full length.  Thorin reached out to run his thumb over the ridges and was moved at how his lover had put aside any cultural revulsion he might have felt to have such things done just to please him.  Then his lips searched for the tattooed nipple, latching onto it and sucking hard.  Yet another painful experience that the elven king had gone through, just for him.

 

Thorin rolled Thranduil onto his back and, with the help of the probing finger, sat astride his pliant body and levered the decorated cock up his backside.  He let out a deep, satisfied groan, the gold and pearls adding a rough and sensuous friction to the experience.  And, as he rode the elf, his lover seized his stiffened prick and jacked him to an even greater size, until his loins clenched and he came in a violent and pumping orgasm.  Thranduil watched him as he threw back his head, then came himself.  His cum spurted copiously into the dwarf’s body and then trickled out from between his cheeks.  The dwarf collapsed upon his breast and the elf held him close.  “Believe me,” whispered the elven king in between gasps, “you are the only one.  I shall neither love nor fuck another.”  And the dwarf, feeling safe and secure in such loving protestations and revelling in the soreness of his backside and the stream of cum running down the inside of his thighs, kissed his lover softly and fell asleep in his arms.

 

.o00o.

 

When they finally woke up once more, they hastened to get bathed and then dressed themselves, Thranduil in an elegant robe and Thorin in his hunting gear.  The elf had one of his usual council meetings and so the dwarf was riding out with Legolas.  The prince had developed a bit of a fondness for the dwarven king.  “I shall never like dwarves,” he had said to his father, “but I’ll make an exception with Thorin.  Just this once, mind you.  Don’t expect me to make a habit of it.”

 

Remembering this conversation, Thranduil smiled to himself as he approached the council chamber.  Things just got better and better and his heart was moved by a powerful emotion as he thought of his love for the dwarven king.

 

But, waiting for him outside the council chamber, he found a very handsome young dwarf.  The lad was holding a document pouch and he stepped forward to speak with him.  And, as he did so and Thranduil glanced into his face, a strange, uneasy ripple passed through the king’s mind.

 

“It’s Drystan,” he said, almost impatiently, as if waiting for a response.  “From Erebor,” he added when the king just looked at him blankly and politely.

 

“I’m delivering some letters from Balin.  To Thorin.  But I wanted to speak with you first.”

 

Thranduil continued to look at him politely but his sense of unease increased.  And when the lad fell silent and began to scowl, the king finally gestured him into a small room and shut the door behind them.  Then: “Can I help you?  I’m afraid that, if it’s Thorin you want, he is out hunting for the day.”

 

Drystan stared at him for a few seconds and then snarled: “You don’t even remember me, do you?”

 

The elven king suddenly felt faintly nauseous and dizzy.  “And should I?” he finally asked.

 

“Well,” said the dwarf with a tinge of venom, “I suppose you do have one excuse.”

 

The elf raised an eyebrow.

 

“It wasn’t exactly my face you were looking at when you fucked me over the library table in Erebor a couple of years ago.”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

The Library Table

 

The room turned.  Thranduil thought he would be sick.  Images fluttered on the edge of his memory only to disappear before he could grasp them.

 

“Let me help you,” Drystan hissed.  “You came into the library while I was studying there and you seduced me.  I was so flattered that a king was interested in me that I pulled down my breeches and let you screw me for the next hour and more.” He paused for breath whilst Thranduil stood there in shock.  Then he said in an anguished voice: “And, do you know, I loved it.  You promised me that you would come to my room and fuck me again – but you never did - even though I waited in every day for weeks.  You had given me a ring – as a promise - but you never came.”

 

The images in Thranduil’s head were getting clearer now.  He could smell the bees-wax polish of the library table; he could see Drystan’s blond curls bobbing under his nose; he could feel his youthful, slender backside under his hands.  And he drew in a horrified breath.  How could this be so?

 

The dwarf drew himself up.  “I did the honourable thing.  I never told anyone.  But, now, after all this time….”

 

The elven king’s breath caught in his throat.  “What do you want from me?” he asked, his voice tight and barely controlled.

 

“I don’t want anything from you,” exclaimed Drystan indignantly.  “I want to give you something: I am offering you myself, just as we promised ourselves to each other in the library that day.”  He reached up and touched Thranduil’s face.  “I am yours,” he said earnestly, “any day, any time, to do with as you wish.”

 

Thranduil took a step backwards and a look of revulsion passed over his face.  “I belong to Thorin Oakenshield,” he cried.  “And I am completely his.  I belong to him alone and will never belong to any other.”  Then he fled from the room, the gorge rising in his throat.  Back in his apartment, he sent a message to the council to say that he was ill, and then he spent the rest of the day, torturing his thoughts in an effort to remember exactly what had happened that day in the library.

 

.o00o.

 

The look of disgust on Thranduil’s face had finally destroyed the fantasy world in which Drystan had been living all this time.  He had dreamt so often of the king coming to his room in Erebor and telling him how much he loved him that this rejection was a considerable shock.  He had hoped that, by confronting him, Thranduil would remember just how much he had wanted him that day in the library and that their brief relationship would be renewed.  But, the elven king had stepped away from him in horror and Drystan was broken-hearted.  Now he would get his revenge.

 

He descended to the stables and lurked there in a dark corner until Thorin and Legolas returned from their hunting trip.  Then he waited until the prince had waved goodbye before emerging from the shadows.  Thorin looked surprised to see a dwarf there.  His brow creased and then he said, “Drystan, isn’t it?”

 

 _Well, at least one of the kings remembers me,_ thought the young dwarf angrily.  And then aloud: “I have two things for you, my lord,” he said.  “First, here are some letters from Balin.”  And he handed over the despatch bag.  “And here,” he sneered, “is a ring given to me by the elven king, Thranduil.”

 

Thorin looked confused: he ignored the letters but turned the ring over and over in his hand.  It was a dwarven ring which he had given to Thranduil as a keepsake some time ago.  And now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen his lover wearing it for a year or more.  But, even so, he couldn’t imagine any circumstances under which Thranduil would have given it away.

 

“He gave it to you?” was the puzzled question.  “But, when did this happen?”

 

“Two years ago, my lord king – after he had finished fucking me all afternoon on the library table.”

 

Thorin felt as if he had been hit around the face with a heavy club.  “What?  What was that?” he said, his mind suddenly refusing to function.

 

“He came to the library one day where I was studying,” repeated Drystan grimly.  “He seduced me and he fucked me over the library table.  And then he gave me the ring.  I have kept this shameful secret to myself all this time but I have finally decided that you should know.”

 

Thorin said no more but staggered from the stables in a daze.  He would speak with Thranduil.  Thranduil would explain everything.

 

With a satisfied look on his face, Drystan mounted his horse and rode back to Erebor.

 

.o00o.

 

As soon as Thorin entered the room, Thranduil knew that he knew.  Drystan must have waylaid him.  His face was pale and drawn and there was no focus in his eyes. 

 

Without preliminaries, he looked at Thranduil and said:  “I have just met Drystan and he tells me that you fucked him in the library a year or so ago.  Is this true?”

 

“Apparently,” replied the elf, his eyes fixed on Thorin’s face.

 

“Apparently!?  Apparently!?” yelled the dwarf.  “Don’t you remember?!  Were you drunk?  But not so drunk that you couldn’t get it up long enough to last all afternoon!”  Then he thrust the ring at him.  “And what about this?  How did he finish up with this?”

 

A few more pieces of the puzzle seemed to gel in his mind.  “I gave it to him as a sort of thank you, I think.”  It was no use lying.  Perhaps Thorin would forgive him if he were as honest as possible.  “And, as a promise, I suppose.”

 

“A promise of what?  That you would fuck him every day for the next year?”  Thorin’s voice was rising.

 

Thranduil looked at his feet.

 

“And did you?  Did you?”

 

“No,” whispered the elven king.  “The library thing just seemed to be a one-off – as far as I remember.”

 

Thorin grabbed him by the collar.  The pain rolled through him like a tide.  And then he hit him – very hard.  “I cannot trust you ever again,” he yelled as the elf sprawled on the floor.  “I cannot love you.   I cannot touch you.  Do you understand that?”  And he strode from the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Incident in Dale

 

By the time he arrived back in Erebor, Thorin felt completely numb.  The betrayal had come out of nowhere and he wouldn’t have believed it if he had not heard it from Thranduil’s own lips.  He shut himself away in his rooms for a week and refused to answer the door to any of his anxious friends.  After a week, he began appearing in the dining-hall, but he sat on his own and wouldn’t speak even to Brangwyn or Balin about what was distressing him.  Through his servants, he discovered that Drystan had left Erebor for the Iron Hills or for Ered Luin.  He didn’t care where he was as long as he wasn’t within his sight.

 

Every afternoon, he went and sat in the library.  He would lock the door and just stare at the table for hours where the deed had been done, recreating Thranduil fucking Drystan in his imagination.  And, every day, a stream of letters came to him from Thranduil which he sent back unopened.

 

Back in Mirkwood, a distraught Thranduil spent hours writing these letters.  He could not deny that the sordid little incident had taken place because it was there, lurking on the edge of his memory.  But he filled the letters with his love and his regret and his confusion over what had happened.  Yes, he had fucked the dwarf but the memory was cloudy and indistinct and he had no idea as to how or why it had happened.  It was all like a bad dream and every letter that was returned unopened to him was like a punch in the gut.

 

Thorin, meanwhile, had moved one more step along the road.  He had sat and thought and suffered; he had tossed and turned unsleeping at night.  And now he looked for a balm to soothe the rawness of his feelings.

 

He got up one morning, sat in front of a mirror and decided that, for his purposes, he needed to look different.  He pulled his hair back from his face and knotted it in a pony-tail.  He attached a whole selection of earrings and ear cuffs and felt he no longer looked majestic but rather quite piratical.  He put on the rough, slightly dirty woollen clothing that he used for gardening and slipped on a cloak with a hood which he pulled up over his head.  Now he felt ready to go into Dale.

 

He had never visited the brothel in Dale: the closest he had been was when he had giggled curiously outside as a child and Dwalin had dragged him away.  Now he approached it curiously again.  The man at reception hardly looked up at him but checked off a list in bored tones: Male or female?  Age range?  Bearded or close-shaven?  Rough sex or vanilla?  Perversions/kinks?  Then he looked in his ledger and said: “Room thirty-one.”  Thorin hesitated for a moment and then pressed on down the dingy corridor.

 

The room was gloomy, lit only by a few candles.  A youngish man dressed in shirt and breeches and with a stubbled face lounged on the bed.  “Top or bottom?” he asked, beginning to undo his shirt.

 

Thorin cast his cloak in a corner and held up a hand.  “I want you to seduce me first and then you can fuck me – over that.”  And he gestured to the table in the corner.  _Would this re-enactment exorcise Drystan and Thranduil,_ he wondered?  And then perhaps he could move on with his life. 

 

The man strolled across the room and took Thorin in his arms.  It felt strange to be held by someone other than Thranduil, especially when a stubbled cheek scraped across his own.  A hand undid a few buttons and slid inside his shirt to caress a nipple.  A coarse voice whispered smut in his ear.  A hard erection pressed into his groin.  Very little seducing went on before he was pushed forward onto the table, where his breeches were pulled down roughly and the man’s big cock was shoved up his backside.  His own cock was pumped encouragingly by a skilful hand and, eventually, the stimulation worked and he came.

 

Thorin lay face down on the table and wondered if it had all been as sordid between Thranduil and Drystan.  The man wiped him between the thighs and began asking for money. Thorin supposed that the ring that Drystan had been given was a form of payment.  He felt quite sick.  He handed over his gold, pulled on his cloak and hastily left the building.

 

Back in Erebor, he shut himself up in his apartment again.  Now that he had lived through the experience, there was no denying its completely sordid nature.  He couldn’t make excuses for Thranduil.  There was no going back.  And he cast a bundle of letters from the elven king that he had wondered about reading unopened into the fire.  He had been living a dream all this time and, fool that he was, he had never known the person whom he had married.

 

He lay on the bed.  Tomorrow he would empty the room of everything that reminded him of the elf and then he would forget him.

 

A knock came at the door and he sighed.  One of his friends again, he supposed.  Perhaps it was time to let them into his life again.  And, tiredly, he crossed the room and unlocked the door.  The moment that he did so, the door was thrust firmly open and Thranduil swept into the room.  “I’ve had enough of waiting,” he said, and he pulled Thorin into his arms.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt IV

 

What would we do without friends?

 

Since Thorin had left Mirkwood, Thranduil had also shut himself away in a daze of thoughts and emotions.  He knew he had done something wrong – something awful – and yet, for some reason, he didn’t feel guilty.  It had happened but it wasn’t his fault, a little voice kept telling him. 

 

He didn’t understand.  Why would he risk his relationship with Thorin for a young dwarf whom he would normally pass without a second look…..because the only one who drew his eye was Thorin, only Thorin.  The whole thing had been so meaningless that he couldn’t even remember it clearly.  And yet it had been a betrayal on an epic scale. 

 

The first question was: why had he swept it from his mind?  Had he been drunk, as Thorin had asked?  Somehow he didn’t think so.  Drunkenness was just not an elven thing and it took something really traumatic for an elf to become inebriated.  Had he been drugged?  But, for what purpose?  That idea didn’t hold water either.  Had he and Thorin just had a row and was this some kind of revenge?   But, surely it couldn’t be revenge unless the other party knew about it – which Thorin obviously hadn’t.

 

The whole incident just didn’t seem real – but the pain was real and the thought that he and the dwarven king might never be reconciled was a grief almost impossible to bear.  And so he spent his days writing letters.  If he went to Erebor, there would only be a showdown: they would argue, perhaps fight.  Things would be said – words that couldn’t be unsaid – and the situation would just get worse.  No, it was better if he committed all his love to paper.

 

Even when the letters were sent back, he still persevered.  Writing them gave him something purposeful to do and, one day, Thorin would open one and read it.  Then, a few days passed and no letters were returned.  He must have read them.  So, hopeful that the dwarf was aware of all that was in his heart and was primed, ready for a visit, the elven king set out for Erebor.

 

.o00o.

 

All Thranduil’s love, all his heart, went into that kiss on the threshold.  It was soft and gentle and tender and passionate and full of desire: it was everything he wanted to say about how he felt and more.  At first Thorin resisted and then he succumbed: their bodies seemed to melt, one into the other, and they shuddered with their need.

 

Then Thranduil drew in a deep breath.  He stiffened – and cast Thorin away from him, against the door.   “The stench!” he cried in a shocked voice.  “Who has been fucking you!?”

 

Thorin balled his fists angrily.  “So, is a man from Dale somehow worse than a young dwarf from Erebor?” he snarled.

 

A man?  From Dale?  The elf found the thought almost too painful to bear and vivid images began to flash through his mind.  “Did you enjoy it, then?  You didn’t wait long before finding a cock to replace mine, did you?”

 

“Yes,” hissed Thorin spitefully, overcome by so many emotions, “I did enjoy it.  He fucked me over a table and I came.”

 

It was as if a hand squeezed Thranduil’s heart.  He couldn’t bear it.  He couldn’t bear to be in the same room as the one he loved and to hear these things being said.  And he turned away blindly and, stumbling down the corridors, finally made his way to the dining hall.

 

Dwalin, Balin and Brangwyn were sitting together having yet another anxious conversation about Thorin when they saw the elven king come in and slump in a chair.  “Looks like things are coming to a head,” muttered Balin.  “Let’s corner him – and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

 

“I’m not in a sociable mood,” growled Thranduil as the three sat down at his table.

 

Brangwyn placed a gentle hand over his: “We can get nothing from Thorin,” she said quietly.  “But, you must tell us what is going on.  You know we have helped you both in the past.”

 

Thranduil said nothing for a long time but finally he sighed.  “I don’t think that anyone can help us this time.  Thorin has accused me of something awful.  And I can’t deny it because it’s true.  It has destroyed our relationship because it has destroyed the trust between us.”

 

“Make a clean breast of things,” encouraged Dwalin.  “Who knows what we might suggest?”

 

Thranduil looked down and bit his lip. 

 

“We’ve all done stupid things that we’re ashamed of,” said Balin.  “You’re amongst friends here and we shan’t condemn you.”

 

The elf decided to get it off his chest.  “A couple of years ago or so, I fucked a young dwarf – Drystan – in the library.  And he finally came to Mirkwood and revealed all to Thorin.  Thorin walked out – and I don’t blame him, of course.  I cannot deny it or make excuses because I remember doing it – sort of.  It is very vague in my memory as if I am so ashamed of what I did that I have tried to expunge it.”

 

Brangwyn leaned forward intently.  “And you say this happened just over two years ago?” she said.

 

“Apparently.  I remember so little.”

 

Brangwyn leaned back in her chair and grinned at the elven king.  “Forget about Drystan.  I remember you, me and the library just over a year ago too.”  She turned and raised an eyebrow at Dwalin.  “And I would say that, whatever happened in that library was all Thorin’s fault, wouldn’t you, Dwalin?”

 

The big dwarf looked confused for a moment and then his brow cleared.  “Oh yes,” he laughed.  “Definitely all Thorin’s fault, Thranduil.  So you can go to him and tell him that you forgive him for what happened.”

 

“What on earth are you two talking about?” asked the elven king.  And now Balin had appeared to cotton on and he was laughing too.  But their merriment convinced him that they had found a way out of the mess for him and his spirits began to lift.

“We never explained all the details,” the friends told him.  “We didn’t want to upset you.  All we said after the event was that you had behaved very badly, before we managed to – umm – cure you.  In no way was any of this your fault.”  And then they did reveal all the details, much to Thranduil’s chagrin.    “Now go and tell Thorin what we’ve just told you,” they grinned.  “He needs to be reminded of what happened two years ago so that he can put two and two together without making five.”

 

.o00o.

 

Thranduil walked with a determined look in his eye down the long corridors.  Thorin, who thought the elf had walked away in disgust, was taken by surprise when he opened the door to his knock.  The elven king pushed his way into the apartment, poured himself a drink and then spun on his heel to face the dwarf.

 

“Do you remember what happened two years ago?” he asked, sitting down and crossing an elegant boot.

 

“Yes,” said Thorin angrily and in some confusion.  “You fucked a dwarf called Drystan.”

 

“And why did I do that?” asked Thranduil, calmly sipping his wine.

 

“Who knows?” came the irritated response.  “Because you wanted to?  Because you fancied him?  Because he was there?”

 

“Or because you had just knocked me unconscious with your axe in a rather reckless bout when we were practising in the yard?  I believe, from what our friends have just told me, that it effected a change in my personality so that I fell out of love with you and in lust with every good-looking dwarf within grabbing distance.  Thank goodness that Dwalin and Brangwyn managed to sort me out.  Of course,” he continued, “you were all too kind to tell me the particulars of my behaviour, but I regret to say that I appear to have sexually assaulted Dwalin and tried to get into his breeches twice and that Brangwyn had to endure a rather awful experience too when I gave her a good mauling and tried to seduce her …. IN THE LIBRARY!”

The cogs in Thorin’s brain were slowly grinding as he came to some appalling conclusions.  “So, it was all my fault?” he gasped.

 

Thranduil got quickly to his feet and wrapped his distressed lover in his arms.  “No,” he said quietly.  “It was no-one’s fault.  It was just a string of unfortunate circumstances – and poor Drystan crossed my path at precisely the wrong moment.  He deserves an explanation and an apology.”

 

“No, I don’t think so,” Thorin managed to smile.  “If I were Drystan, I would rather believe that the elven king had been overwhelmed by lust for me rather than that he made a mistake because he was in the middle of a funny turn.”

 

Thranduil laughed.  “You know,” he said, “I am seriously in need of a fuck, my love.  But, first I want to wash that stink from you and then we will both try to forget all about it.”

 

.o00o.

 

In the middle of the night, Thranduil was suddenly jerked awake by an awful thought.  “Wassa matter?” murmured Thorin sleepily.

 

“I’ve just had an awful thought,” gasped the elf.  “What if there’s more of them?  What if a whole queue of dwarves starts hammering on the door claiming I fucked them?”

 

The horror of this image kept them both awake for some time and was only resolved by the distraction afforded by another good screw.

 

.o00o.

 

**Well, do you remember this incident with the young dwarf, briefly mentioned in _The Kings and the Sex Addiction?_   Or were you just as confused as poor Thranduil?  If you missed that one, you can always go back and find out exactly what happened after our beautiful elven king gets a bang on the head.**

**The three stories before this were all about body art: The Kings and the Tattoos/Body Art/Piercing.  They featured the lady tattoo artist, Bris.  And I am thinking hard about writing another one where she continues to feature along with Dwalin – and our two kings, of course.**

**Hope you enjoyed the story above – but now I must really find time to watch a few more hours of the bts stuff on the Bot5A EE edition.  The extra 20 minutes of film were really great, btw.  A shame they weren’t included in the theatrical edition.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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